


A cold kind of victory

by Yossk



Category: Maleficent (Disney Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 03:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30082476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yossk/pseuds/Yossk
Summary: “Whatever you need.” He said.“Wings. I need you to be my wings.” She replied.And so he was.
Relationships: Diaval & Maleficent (Disney)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	A cold kind of victory

**Author's Note:**

> I recently watched both Maleficent movies for the first time (a little late to the party, I know!) and I had complicated feelings that needed an outlet. But I was also reading some of Philip Pullman's essays on writing fairy tales around the same time, and the two things somehow combined into this strange, stylistic mess. Enjoy!

“Whatever you need.” He said.

“Wings. I need you to be my wings.” She replied.

And so he was.

Each day Diaval flew, collecting gossip and whispers from the land of men. Each night he returned to a ruined castle above the Moors, tumbling through the clouds to deliver his news. 

Maleficent watched the skies for him, giving him voice with a flick of her wrist and a whisper of gold. He learnt quickly how to land as a man, how to balance with arms and too-big feet.

One night as Maleficent lay down, Diaval eyed her thin cloak and the rock hard ground.

“Forgive me, Mistress,” He said, “But don’t you have somewhere nicer than this to rest your head?”

She twisted her fingers. He was a raven again, with raven thoughts in his raven head. He perched on the ramparts and tucked his beak under his wing. Maleficent lay on her side. Their eyes went glassy as the night wore on.

The next day dawned bright.

“Diaval,” Maleficent beckoned. She gripped her staff and left the castle, stepping carefully over the rocks and rubble tumbling below. He followed.

It was many hours before they stopped. 

“There.” Maleficent gestured to a grassy outcrop, a gnarled tree at its peak with a nest slung between its sturdiest branches. The cliff ran sheer, all the way down to the river. 

She gripped her staff tight, and Diaval thought she should rest. She had walked for many miles. 

He cawed insistently.

A twist of her fingers. He was a man.

“What?”

“I can reach it, Mistress. I could—.”

A twist of her fingers. He was a raven. And no amount of cawing would return him his voice.

Diaval resumed his observation of the land of men. Maleficent roamed far whilst he was gone, taking wide looping routes around the ruined castle, returning always before nightfall with empty hands.

One day, she was not there when Diaval returned. 

He cawed to her in his raven voice. The stones echoed lifelessly back. He flew, high above the ramparts, scanning the land for her dark hair and her horns and her flowing autumn cloak.

Diaval spotted her, at last, part way up a mountain beyond the ruins. He circled, cawing. She did not look up.

He landed. He cawed again.

Maleficent twisted her fingers. He was a man. 

He fell off his perch and skidded on the loose ground.

“Mistress?” he asked. “What are you doing?”

“There are herbs on this mountain. I am _trying_ to reach them.” She replied through gritted teeth.

“Let me help.”

She did not speak.

“I am your wings.” He tried.

She held tight to her staff, swaying in the light breeze. “Very well.”

She twisted her fingers. He was a raven. 

He flew, to the highest and sunniest part of the slope. He plucked sprigs of round, sharp-smelling leaves and returned with them in his beak. Maleficent took them and folded them into her cloak.

The stars had come out. 

“I will stay here tonight.” She said. She curled on the steep ground.

He cawed at her. 

“Goodnight Diaval.”

The next day, Diaval woke with the sun. Maleficent watched him with glassy eyes. 

“Go. Bring me news. I will return alone.” she said.

Diaval cawed at her. She waved her hand and golden light itched his feet. He leapt into the sharp cold air.

Maleficent watched the sky until she could not see him. 

She dug her staff into the earth. Frozen muscles spasmed around hollow bone. Faerie legs were for _landing_ not _walking._

The staff slipped and Maleficent fell.

Diaval returned early in the orange afternoon. He cawed loudly into the ruins. Maleficent had not returned. He flew high over the mountains. She sat bowed upon a boulder, not ten steps from where he had left her. 

A twist of her fingers. He tumbled from the sky, landing as a man.

“You might make it within the week.”

She did not respond.

“Mistress?” he asked.

“Bring water. And build a fire.” She spat out.

He did.

Maleficent steeped the herbs. The air smelled sharp. She removed her bodice, and the cloth wrapped tight where her wings had been. 

“Let me help,” said Diaval, with his human mouth and his human voice, as she moved awkwardly and the mask slipped.

“Do not touch me.” She said, green at her fingertips.

He did not. He took the cloth and he cleaned it and soaked it afresh. And he handed it back to her, to bind into place with a hiss.

When she was done, he spoke once more.

“Mistress?”

“Yes?”

“May I speak freely?”

“No.”

He spoke freely nonetheless.

“You can’t go on like this. Let me help you.”

“I do not need help.”

“Let me serve you, then.”

“You already serve me.”

“Let me build a new—”

A twist of her fingers. He was a raven. 

Days later, Diaval soared over the fields with a heavy bundle in his beak. He landed on the wall where Maleficent stoked herbs over the fire and dropped it at her feet.

“What is this?”

He cawed at her. She twisted her fingers. He was a man.

“Shoes, Mistress.”

Her eyes narrowed, “What need have I of shoes?”

“The humans wear them. To protect their feet when they walk outside.” He gestured at the sturdy boots she had conjured for his fragile human feet. 

“I am no human.” Her lip curled.

“No.” He agreed, “You are not.”

She took her staff and walked towards him, her bare soles on the cold hard stone. She stopped inches from his face.

“Do you think I need protection, Diaval?” Green curled at her fingertips.

“No, Mistress.”

“Then _what_ are you doing?”

“Trying to be of service.”

She raised an eyebrow. 

She twisted her fingers. He was a raven. 

They did not speak for many days.

Weeks passed. Diaval brought news of King Stefan’s coronation and Maleficent poured green rage into the skies. They left the ruined castle and dragged darkness through the Moors. Maleficent grew thin and weary. Walked less, spoke less. They had no home, but slept where they found themselves as darkness fell. Although Diaval, becoming more familiar with the Moor-folk as they passed regularly amongst them, was no longer sure it was normal for a faerie to sleep with her eyes wide open.

One day, Maleficent perched on the banks of the river. She watched her own reflection as the sun rose high and then lowered once more. Diaval grew tired of it. He landed beside her. Her finger ran gently over his feathered head.

He cawed. 

She sighed and twisted her fingers.

He became a man. His feet dangled by her side. He stood quickly and walked a few paces away.

“What do you want, Diaval?” She did not spit. 

“I was just thinking… that this would be a good spot.”

“For what?”

“A nest.”

He waited for her fingers to twist. They did not. He remained a man.

“ _That_ is my nest.” She looked up to the gnarled tree on the cliff, “If I make a new one then I am down here, forever.” She turned to him, “Now, will you stop asking, you stupid little bird?” Her eyes flared. Her quiet was not despair, but rage. 

He bowed his head, “I understand, Mistress. But couldn’t you—?” 

Her fingers snapped. He was a raven. He cawed indignantly. She turned away.

He flew towards the tree on the cliff.

She stood from the river. “Stay away, Diaval!”

 _Make me_ , he thought. 

Gold poured from Maleficent’s fingertips and vines rose from the riverbed. They grew faster than he could fly. They tangled around his little bird body and dragged him through the air. 

Maleficent twisted her fingers and dumped his human self in the river. He gasped for air.

“Do—” He found his feet, “Do that.” 

“What?” Maleficent’s fingers gripped her staff.

“Lift yourself. Or make a stairway. Or—” 

She held up a hand, “Be quiet.” 

Diaval dripped into the river. 

Maleficent walked away. He hung his head and sat muddily on the riverbank. An hour passed and the sun moved towards the horizon. 

“Well?” her voice called to him, “Aren’t you coming?”

Diaval scrambled to his feet. Maleficent smiled a cold smile as he took in the towering, tangled structure she had created. 

They climbed slowly.

At the summit, Maleficent did not turn immediately to her nest, but instead looked out across the Moors, to the castle of men rising in the distance. Her eyes burned.

“Mistress?” Diaval asked.

She twisted her fingers. He was a raven. 

She tended silently to her tree, healing branches and gently re-shaping her nest. They rested there that night, Maleficent’s eyes wide open as she stared at the castle to the north.

It was a cold kind of victory, Diaval thought. 

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments of all kinds (questions, constructive criticism, interesting thoughts, unabashed squeeing...) are gratefully received :)


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